Page 14 of Tharn’s Hunt (Barbarians of the Dust #2)

"I'm going crazy," I whisper, more to myself than to him. "That's it. I've finally snapped. The desert has won."

Goldi’s arms tighten around me, in a gesture that might be comfort or concern. He looks down at me again, and this time there's something like frustration in his eyes. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but only a soft clicking sound emerges.

"Great," I mutter, dropping my hand from the translator. "So I'm hearing voices. Specifically, your voice. In my head. That's normal, right? Totally not a sign of an impending psychotic break."

His stride falters slightly, and for a moment, I think he might actually stop. But he pushes on, his determination evident in every line of his body.

" Firebloom ," I hear again.

"Firebloom," I whisper. Realization makes my eyes widen. I gesture to the pouch tied to his waist. "Are you talking about those plants? The ones you used on my leg?"

His gaze snaps to mine, sudden awareness in those amber depths.

"Let me check," I say, reaching for the pouch tied at his waist. "There was one left."

He shifts me in his arms, allowing me access to the pouch. I fumble with the ties, finally managing to open them and peer inside. Just as I suspected—there's only one leaf left, crumpled and dry.

"There's only one," I tell him, holding it up. "Is that enough?"

He studies the leaf before his gaze shifts to my leg, to the healing wound there, then back to the leaf. With careful movements, he adjusts me on one arm only to use the other to take the leaf from my hand. Without any hesitation, he tucks the leaf back into the pouch.

"Hey," I protest. "Don't you need that? For your shoulder?"

He ignores me, securing the pouch and resuming his steady pace across the sand. But now I understand what's happening. He's saving it. For me. In case my wound gets worse again.

The realization makes me…deflate. This stubborn, golden alien is willing to suffer through his pain, his infection, to make sure I have medicine if I need it?

"You self-sacrificing idiot," I mutter, torn between gratitude and frustration. "You need it more than I do."

He doesn't respond, just continues trudging forward, his breathing growing more labored with each step. The glow beneath his skin flickers, dimming further until it's barely visible even in the shade of his arms.

We continue like this for what feels like eternity, the sun crawling across the sky, the sand shifting beneath his feet.

I watch him with growing concern as his condition visibly deteriorates.

His skin grows paler, the gold taking on an ashen quality.

Every step he takes seems to draw all the energy from him.

He's going to collapse soon. I can feel it in the increasingly erratic rhythm of his heartbeat against my side, in the trembling of his arms as they struggle to support my weight.

"Please," I whisper, not caring if he understands or not. "Please stop. Rest. Before you kill yourself."

But he doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow down. His eyes remain fixed ahead, locked onto a series of flat-topped rocks ahead.

And then, without warning, his knees buckle.

We go down hard, but he somehow manages to twist his body so that he takes the brunt of the impact. Sand flies up around us as we hit the ground, his arms still locked protectively around me, even as his chest heaves with labored breaths.

"Goldilocks!" I scramble out of his grip, kneeling beside him in the sand. "Hey, hey, look at me."

His eyes find mine, pain clear in their amber depths. He tries to sit up, but his arms shake too badly to support his weight. He collapses back onto the sand, a frustrated growl rumbling in his chest.

"Stop," I command, pressing a hand to his uninjured shoulder. "Just... stop. Rest."

He grunts, gesturing weakly toward a point in the distance. I follow his gaze, squinting against the setting sun. There, the rocks that form a plateau. A cave, maybe. Shelter. About the length of a football field away.

"Is that where we're headed?" I ask, pointing toward it. "That cave?"

He grunts, then he tries to rise again, determination etched into every line of his face.

"Oh no, you don't," I say, pushing him back down. "You're staying right here. I'll go."

For a second, it’s clear he doesn’t understand. Not until I turn in the direction I need to go.

Goldi’s eyes widen, alarm filling their depths. He grabs my wrist, a growl in his throat.

"Look," I say, meeting his gaze. "You're in no condition to walk. Let alone carry me. I'm feeling better, and that cave isn't far. I can make it."

He growls a warning and his grip on my wrist tightens enough to make his point clear. Don't go .

"I have to," I insist, trying to pry his fingers loose. "If there are more of those plants you need, I can bring them back."

His expression darkens. He points to the sand around us, then makes a slithering motion with his free hand. Danger. There's danger out there.

"I know," I say softly. "But we have no choice. You can't make it, and we can't stay here in the open."

For a long moment, we just stare at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills. Then, slowly, reluctantly, his grip on my wrist loosens.

"Thank you," I murmur, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. "I'll be careful. I promise."

I push myself to my feet, swaying slightly as my legs adjust to bearing weight again. The world tilts briefly before steadying, and I take a tentative step forward. Then another. My muscles ache, protesting after so long being carried, but they hold.

"I'll be right back," I tell him, trying to project a confidence I don't feel. "Just... stay alive, okay?"

He watches me with those intense amber eyes, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. When I turn to go, he makes a sound—half growl, half whimper—that tears at something in my chest.

But I force myself to keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Sand shifts beneath my boots, making each step a challenge, but I push on. The rocks grow slowly larger in my vision, a dark smudge against the orange-tinged sky.

Behind me, I hear movement. I glance back to see Goldi attempting to follow, dragging himself across the sand with dogged determination. He makes it barely a meter before collapsing again, one hand clutching at his chest as if in pain.

And strangely, impossibly, I feel an answering twinge in my chest. A phantom ache that has no business being there.

I almost turn back. Almost. But the darkening sky and the memory of those shadow creatures keep me moving forward. We need shelter. We need those plants. And Goldi can't get them himself.

So I steel my nerves and continue, even though, ridiculously and nonsensically, each step feels like I'm leaving a part of myself behind. Each meter of distance between us makes that phantom ache in my chest grow stronger, a dull throb that matches the desperate look in his eyes as I walk away.

By the time I reach the rocks surrounding the cave, my legs are trembling with exhaustion, and sweat drenches my clothes despite the cooling air. I pause, catching my breath before venturing closer.

The cave mouth is smaller than I expected, barely large enough for someone Goldi’s size to squeeze through. But that's good. It means the shadow creatures will have a harder time getting in, too.

I approach cautiously, alert for any signs of creatures already claiming the space. Because, as I have been reminded time and time again now, this desert is alive. But the area seems deserted, quiet except for the soft whisper of wind across sand.

As I push through the entrance, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness inside.

It’s damper in here, even though I can’t hear any dripping water.

Slowly, I move forward, scanning the walls when something catches my eye.

A splash of vibrant blue-orange against the dull beige of rock and sand.

Plants. Small, spiky things growing in clumps in one corner.

Firebloom. It has to be.

Relief floods through me so intensely my knees nearly buckle. I hurry forward, reaching for the nearest plant with eager hands. No sooner do I touch the first one than pain lances through my palm as dozens of tiny thorns sink into my skin.

"Shit!" I snatch my hand back, staring at the blood welling from countless pinpricks. "Okay, so you're not friendly."

I glance back toward the cave entrance. I can’t see Goldi, but I can almost feel his eyes on the cave, watching. Waiting. Worrying.

"Right," I mutter, turning back to the plants. "Let's try this again. More carefully this time."

I pull the hem of my shirt up, creating a makeshift basket. Then, using a loose stone nearby, I carefully sever several plants at the base, letting them fall into the fabric. The thorns catch on the material, but it's thick enough to protect my hands.

When I've gathered as many as I can carry, I knot the fabric to secure my harvest. Blood drips from my injured hand, leaving a trail of dark spots in the sand as I turn to head back to Goldi.

Exiting the cave, I spot him immediately. Those amber-gold eyes lock onto me like I’m the only thing alive in this wasteland.

And damn if that look doesn’t send a rush of something unfamiliar through me.

I hold up the makeshift basket of my shirt, displaying the spiky, life-saving plants. A grin splits my face. I did it.

I got the firebloom. Me . Not Justine charging ahead, not Goldilocks carrying my half-dead weight. Just my own stubborn legs and shaky hands.

The pride hits hard, swelling like a warm, foreign thing in my chest. I’ve spent my whole life following—my sister’s plans, Earth’s collapse, the Xyma’s lies. Always a step behind, always the one being protected. But this? This choice, this risk, this victory... this is mine.